


What We Do In the Dark

by candesgirl, mikes_grrl, Walkerbaby



Series: HAMILTON SHORT STORIES AND ONE SHOTS [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Billy Lee wants nothing to do with this foolishness, Gore, I'm probably going to hell for this, M/M, Nudity, Paranormal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-08-15 12:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8056636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/pseuds/candesgirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/mikes_grrl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkerbaby/pseuds/Walkerbaby
Summary: There's a reason Alexander Hamilton is so useful to General Washington and it's not because of his fluency in French or his abilities with a quill. It's much darker than that. So dark in fact that they've agreed to never talk about it -- even if what Alexander does? It might just help them survive Valley Forge and win the war.





	1. Chapter 1

They don’t talk about it. That’s the one rule he has. Not that General Washington has ever tried to talk about it. But if he did, Alexander wouldn’t allow it. That’s the one rule he has. No, it’s one of the two rules he has. The two rules that neither of them have ever spoken of but that each of them know are iron clad. And the first rule is that they must never talk about this…this thing that they’ve entered into together.

No matter how itchy his skin becomes as the sun sets. No matter the noises that come from his belly as it gnaws at him with hunger. No matter what happens, they must never, ever talk about it.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton?” Washington’s voice is brisk. “Have you completed the day’s correspondence?”

“There’s one last thing for your signature sir,” Alexander answers as he finishes scratching out the last of this letter to Congress, pleading for money. They are without guns, without ammunition and have resorted to eating the horses. Their men are without boots and many are without cold weather gear to make the Valley Forge winter survivable. They’ve given up on comfort weeks ago — now they simply need enough supplies to keep their men alive.

Alexander knows the help isn’t coming. The Congress is fat and comfortable in Philadelphia and supplies won’t be coming. It doesn’t change the dismay he feels when he sees how poorly his hand has become at the end of the letter.

His nails have begun to lengthen. Darken. The neatly trimmed nails of an officer and a gentleman shifting instead to the claws of a beast.

Washington scrawls a barely legible signature to the bottom of the correspondence Alexander has so carefully and neatly written and sets it aside. “It may be best if you remove your uniform now Son,” Washington says, his voice gentle. “We’ve not the provisions to replace it and I think come morning it would be better if your clothes don’t show the results of our night’s business.”

He glances down at his wrists, the way they’re shifting, the bones weakening as his fingers curl into claws, his hands twisting inward toward their natural form.

Their natural form. His stomach writhes in shame now as well as hunger. He’d hoped once away from St. Croix whatever it was that forced this upon him would break it’s hold. The magic that held his curse would be broken by distance. That becoming a man would break the curse that had been laid on him as an orphaned boy there on the dockside, taking notes and doing the work his master had put to him. He’d been an apprentice tasked with keeping records there on the docks. An apprentice eager to please. That was why he’d pointed out the girl’s spots. The signs of fever. The warnings of the plague she could bring into St. Croix.

How was he to know she was the child of a powerful witch? One that would curse an orphaned apprentice with her dying breath?

He hadn’t known and when he’d become too much for the local gentry to control, too hungry to be kept leashed with nothing but rodents and small mammals to feed him, they’d scraped together the money to send him north. To educate him they’d told the populace, this wonder child of the islands. In reality it had been to get rid of him and the devastation he might one day unleash if he were to ever get loose when the moon was full.

They’d sent him to New York instead. To a place with a population big enough that one or two missing poor people a month? No one would notice. Just a body or two more in the river. Nothing to concern the powerful men of the city.

Then the war had come and he’d thought, this, _this war_ it was something that was worth dying for. Something worth killing for. Something that he wouldn’t be ashamed to let his powers loose in the service of.

“Alexander.” Washington’s voice was sharper now and he raised his head. The light in the room suddenly much brighter than it had seemed before. Not brighter. Too bright. The images too sharp.

When had his General changed out of his pristine uniform and into the dark clothes that he always wore during their excursions?

“Remove your uniform Son.” Washington stepped closer. One of his hands wrapped around Alexander’s elbow and helped him to stand.

He could feel his spine beginning to tighten, hunching his body forward. His skin itched. Hair sprouted along the backs of his wrist. The spikes that would sprout along his spine tearing at his skin.

“I…” He held a claw up. He knew that if he didn’t get out of his clothes soon they’d be torn to tatters during the transformation.

“Come.” Washington stepped around behind him and pulled his coat from his shoulders, before folding the blue and white uniform jacket reverently and placing it on the desk, away from the candles so it wouldn’t have waxed dripped on it.

He was so proud of that coat. That mark of honor. The distinction of being a trusted member of Washington’s personal staff. That trust earning him sidelong glances from men of higher breeding. Men of family and money. Men like his own Laurens. Always curious about why Alexander spent so many of his nights in the General’s private tent.

He felt his neck cloth loosened and then Washington’s calloused fingers tracing the sides of his throat, soothing him, seeking to ease him through the transition. His shirt was pulled loose from his breeches and he raised his arms, the movement instinctive as that of a young child being undressed by their mother. The buttons of his trousers were undone with careful, methodical fingers. His smalls pushed away, down past his knees. The back of Washington’s hand had brushed against his manhood and he’d shivered, even though Washington had remained silent, unconcerned.

Surely the other man knew about the rumors? Washington and his West Indian catamite? America’s finest general, it’s greatest living hero, and the boy who fucked him for patronage?

It was entirely the fantasy of lesser minds of course. Having seen him as he was now, there was no universe in which Washington would desire him. He’d said similar, the few times men who were too drunk to mind their tongues had repeated the rumor. If he was as repulsive as they say ( _he was, he was so much more repulsive than any of them realized_ ) why would the General want Alexander in his bed? Why would he damn himself by unnatural practices with an orphaned, West Indian bastard of all people?

All his protestation didn’t prevent the stricken look that would cross his dear John Lauren’s face whenever the accusations were uttered. The way the other man would pull away from his touch. As if Alexander could ever desire another the way he desired John. As if any other touch could make his skin feel as tight or his breath quicken the way John’s did.

He felt Washington’s hands upon his shoulders, pushing him to sit on the side of the other man’s camp bed. “I’ll hold you through the worst of it,” Washington’s voice was gentle. Soothing.

He watched, his eyes aching in the now bright candle light of the tent as his General, America’s greatest hope knelt on the floor in front of his feet. In front of the feet of a West Indian bastard. A witch cursed monster who’d been exiled by his own people. Then, his General, a man who was more a father than the man whose seed had created him lifted Alexander’s left boot and removed it, peeling the stocking away as well, to reveal the fur covered appendage, razor sharp claws were the toenails had been. The General didn’t flinch at the sight. Simply lifted the right boot and removed it and its stocking as well. Peeled the remains of Alexander’s clothes from his lower body, folded them and placed them with his uniform coat. Placed his boots under the table, near the small fire so that the boots would be warm when they returned.

A rough cloak was wrapped around his shoulders, covering his nakedness, hiding his shame. There was a shift and then the cot sank slightly at Washington’s weight. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, lowering him onto his side. “Come.” Washington’s tone was gentle, coaxing, as he lay behind Alexander, arms wrapped around him, controlling and confining him but offering comfort as well. “You must try to relax. The more relaxed you are the less the transition pains you.”

As if the word pain brought it back to mind, white hot heat surged through his legs. His hips breaking and reforming in a way that hunched him forward, more a crouching shambling beast than a man. The spikes along his spine were beginning to break the skin and he had to stifle his cry of agony. A warm hand rubbed along his chest, made circles on his belly. Never lower. Washington’s touch had never been predatory, had never made demands, he’d only sought to soothe and comfort as one would do a child.

“Care—” he gasped as the spikes finally slid free. He’d poisoned a man once with them. On St. Croix. Instead of running, leaving the runaway slaves that had already been trapped by Alexander to their fate, the man had attacked from behind. Or tried to. Had ran smack into the deadly quills along his back and had died, clutching his throat, his face turning blue, foam bubbling from his lips.

He heard Nelson and Blueskin nickering to each other from the far end of the line as Lafayette moved through the night toward them. Was ready for the slight tap on the canvas flaps at the front of the tent.

“We are ready,” the Frenchman said, his voice curt.

Washington shifted his weight away from Alexander and he fought the urge to whimper. The General stood and then helped Alexander to stand as well, hunched now, half his already slight size, hunched like a crone in his black cloak, the hood pulled forward to mask what remained of his face. They made their way out of the tent and after a brief glance at him Lafayette had turned his eyes away, his mouth tight in displeasure.

“Has the supply train been found?” Washington’s voice was low.

“Oui.” Alexander could see the man’s rosary beads clenched tightly in his right riding glove. Knew once they were on the road Lafayette would wait until his back was turned and cross himself, make the sign of the evil eye to keep whatever sickness had brought Alexander to this wouldn’t touch him or his men.

“And von Steuben knows to keep his men well back?” Washington prompted, just as he did every full moon.

“Oui.” Washington mounted Nelson and then nodded toward Billy Lee, his manservant, who had crept up behind Alexander.

“Come now Lieutenant Colonel Hamilton,” Billy Lee’s voice was soft, dangerous. A soft piece of cloth was pressed against his lips and he opened his mouth to let the slave gag him. Not that it mattered. If he wished to tear out Billy Lee’s throat he could do it, gag or no gag. He could tear out the throats of every man in the camp before anyone made a sound.

But while he was a monster, he was a monster with a code. And the only blood he would spill was that of his enemies or his General’s enemies. Although both were the same.

Billy Lee lifted him onto the horse sidesaddle and Alexander wrapped his arms around Washington’s waist.

Without a word, Washington tapped his heels into Nelson and they made their way out of camp at a slow, careful walk. Washington, a small, cloaked, hunched bundle behind him with Lafayette and two of his own men trailing behind.

Alexander knew that von Steuben and his men would be far enough behind not to see what was about to happen but close enough to provide assistance should things go wrong.

Once free of camp, Washington spurred his mount onward at a faster pace and Alexander tightened his grip. It would be no use for Washington to go harrying about the countryside, a monster clinging to his back and to have the monster fall off now would it?

An hour later they reached the crest of a hill and below he could see the low fires of a temporary encampment. “A supply train,” Washington whispered to him as he removed Alexander’s gag. “Guns, ammunition. Clothes to withstand the winter weather. Bread. Meat. I need not tell you how much these things are needed in our camp Alexander. How vital they are to the success of our campaign. To our very survival.”

Bread. Meat. Survival for their men. And it could all be had with no risk to their own troops.

Bread.

Meat.

He slipped down off the side of Nelson and with gnarled fingers unhooked his cloak, leaving it in the snow for Washington or Lafayette to retrieve once he’d gone.

_Meat._

He ran. Not like the wolves he’d wished he was when the curse was finally laid upon him. Not on four legs like a predator. He rushed forward on two legs, his arms dangling low, knuckles scraping the ground with each step.

John would see the scrapes tomorrow and his mouth would tighten. Would give Alexander some salve for them, wordlessly, his eyes full of pain as he came to his own conclusions about the state of Alexander’s hands. The state of his hair. The dark rings under his eyes. The way Washington would demand that Alexander spend the day in bed, resting after a long night of ‘answering correspondence’, the General coming on his own to bring trays of covered food for Alexander to eat in bed.

He was on the sentry before the man had even noticed him coming from the dark. He bit down on the man’s throat, tearing through his vocal chords, blood spurting into his mouth and he wanted to linger, to feast, but he had many kills to make that night and he knew Washington and Lafayette would make sure the tastiest morsels were packed into salt filled bags to preserve his feast until after the work had been done. Would bring him his feast on the morrow.

He wished there were screams. Cries. Soldiers pleading for mercy or begging for their mothers. Instead there was the watery pull of flesh from bone. The gurgle of blood bubbling from an artery, spraying weakly into the air like a fountain that was slowly losing pressure. The gurgle of the British soldiers’ last blood sodden breath.

Then, as quickly as it began it was over. Washington was covering him in his discarded cloak and placing a slab of offal into his hands. He and Lafayette muscled Alexander’s gore covered body onto the back of Nelson, one of Lafayette’s men holding the horse at the reins, making soothing noises to keep the war horse from bolting in terror like a colt first confronted by a snake.

He brought the warm organ to his lips and bit. The meat gave way and rich, thick, warm blood spurted into his mouth. Heart, his mind supplied to him as he continued to suck. They had brought him a heart. It was still warm, recently it had been pumping. Not the sentry then. Perhaps the last man he’d killed. The Captain in charge of this supply train.

He took another bite.

“We must go General,” Lafayette said, his accent bending the words and making it hard for Alexander to understand in the darkness.

Why must they go? There was meat. Blood. They shouldn’t go they should feast. Glory in the moon and the blood and the meat. All the meat he had provided for them. None of them need be hungry or cold again. They had meat and blood and skins to wear for warmth.

He brought the heart to his lips again and sucked, hard, slurping in the blood.

Nelson wickered nervously beneath him.

Stupid beast. When they were done with the meat he’d already killed he would eat the horse. Climb inside its body and suck the blood from its heart while it still lived. Coat himself in it’s gore while the animal screamed in it’s death throes.

“Von Steuben and his men will be here soon,” Lafayette insisted.

There was a shift and then a weight pressed against his front. He wrapped one arm around the mass in front of him and then used his other hand to press the heart to his mouth, tearing a bite away.

His. His meat. _His blood._

If the foolish soldiers wanted to leave his offering to rot in the snow then who was he to tell them otherwise. They left him to his meal and he’d leave them to waste theirs.

Another bite and the blood coated his tongue and Alexander tried to stifle his moan of pleasure. His cock twitched. Meat. Blood. Hunt.  Kill. There was only one pleasure he hadn’t had tonight and there was a warm body in front of him that might be surrendered to his need before the moon set.

Meat.

Blood.

Hunt.

Kill.

_Feast._

He came back to himself in a wooden hip bath placed before Washington’s fire. Billy Lee was sponging the blood from his skin and Alexander had to hide his revulsion.

“Almost done Lieutenant Colonel,” Billy Lee’s voice was still low but now instead of menacing it was the voice a groom would use to settle a skittish horse. “Just need to rinse the last of that Red coat Captain from your hair and—”

Alexander lurched from the hip bath and hung his head over a nearby bucket, retching but nothing came out. His stomach spasmed. “Where is the General?” He muttered, hanging his head as he fought the urge to force his excesses from the night before out of his body.

“Gone to meet with the rest of his officers,” Billy Lee’s voice was neutral. “About the supply train that the Baron and his men raided the night before. Said Red Indians had killed the men but left the supplies.”

“I should…” He stood and started toward his uniform. “The General said to tell you that you should keep to your bed today. ‘Cause of the way you spent your night answering his correspondence until the sun rose. Said he can’t afford to see his personal secretary fall ill from lack of sleep.”

“I…” He turned to see that Billy Lee was standing now, not meeting his eyes. He turned back to his uniform and hurriedly slipped it on, not bothering to tie his cravat or button his coat. The other officers were meeting with Washington and there was no one to see if he wasn’t keeping to standards. Besides, his own tent was only a few yards away.

He pushed open the canvas and hurried toward his own quarters, the tent he shared with John. He’d climb into bed. Pull up his blankets. Claim there’d been too many letters to write, orders to transcribe and he’d just now finished. Ignore the way John’s mouth would tighten and the wounded look that would fill his eyes when he saw how gingerly Alexander moved today.

He’d let John think the worst of him. Let him think that Alexander was sore from being used as the General’s paramour. Let them all think he’d earned his day of rest by spending his nights on his back with his legs spread.

There were worse things they could think. The truth being one of them. Because he and Washington and Lafayette had only two rules when it came to this business between them. They never spoke about it between them. And they never told John. Above all else, no one would ever breathe a word about it to his darling, untouchable, unattainable John.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prequel for how George Washington came to find out about Alexander's affliction

He needed to get out of camp. Alexander glanced over his shoulder and saw that the sun was gone. Turned back to his parchment. Finished the last line. Set it aside for General Washington to sign in the morning. 

The sun, weak as it had been on this dreary October day, had set and it was quickly darkening. 

He needed to slip from camp before the night sentries were posted. Needed a chance to put miles between him and the men before the change was upon him. 

“If that is all Sir,” he said quietly, trying to subtly nudge Washington into releasing him for the evening. 

He needed to go. To get free from camp and into the forest before the moon began to rise. Needed miles between him and everyone else. 

He’d found a spot last month. A good spot. A barn just outside of camp where he’d stashed dark clothing. He’d change out of his uniform there and into the clothes of a farmer and then he could be on his way undetected. There was a clearing ten miles out and 

Alexander would have worried about reaching it in time but he moved faster just before his change. Could cover ground with less effort. 

His sense of smell heightened as well. He’d gone out the night before, to make sure the area was still safe because he knew he wouldn’t be of the right mind to do it tonight, and he’d smelled a stag. 

His stomach rumbled and Alexander felt his cheeks flush. 

“Hungry?” General Washington asked and Alexander glanced up at him through his lashes as the other man gave him a small grin. “The other aides left for their dinner hours ago Hamilton, you should have joined them.” 

“The work was not done,” Alexander muttered. 

“I have…” General Washington held his hands out in front of his own plate of roasted beef and cabbage and the smell wafted over to Alexander. 

His stomach rolled as he stared at it. Burnt. They’d burnt the meat and the cabbage had a sickly sweet smell and it made his stomach twist in on itself. Why would anyone burn their meat that way? Only a little pink left at the center of a slice of meat that should be red and dripping. 

“No thank you sir,” Alexander said quickly. “I could not eat your dinner.” 

“Well then.” General Washington nodded. “You must go and find your own Hamilton. You’re dismissed for the night.” 

“Thank you sir,” Alexander answered as he stood and hurried from the tent. 

He slipped from the tent and turned away from his own. He couldn’t see John. Wouldn’t. The other man would ask if he was staying for the night and Alexander would have to tell him no and he would see the hurt linger in John’s face. 

They had… Alexander swallowed. They had not spent much time together recently, even though they shared a tent. 

Before they had reached this camp they had always been in a large tent. Four men, but on reaching New Jersey there had been more room and more tents and the men had spread out. Two to a tent. John and Alexander. Together. And things that might have gone unnoticed or unremarked upon, or gently teased about, in a tent of four men became tension filled in a tent with two. Like Alexander’s frequent disappearances around the time of the full moon. 

“He likes to take his whores under moonlight is all,” Tilghman had joked once. “Let’s him see the tits and avoid looking at the rotting teeth.” 

Alexander had hid his face in a mug of ale while the others laughed and John had flushed. 

They’d gone to the tavern though last month, days before the full moon and it had been him and John and there had been too much ale and he could smell the want on the other man. The need. Smelled John’s arousal over all the other scents in the tavern. 

And Alexander? Alexander had problems with self denial even on his best days. Just before the moon reached it’s peak? His self control was all but nonexistent. 

The next morning there had been sweet kisses and hushed love words and nuzzling in his cramped camp bed. And that night Alexander had not returned to their tents and now all there was between them was sullen looks and bitter sighs. 

He couldn’t face John tonight. 

Instead he turned toward the edge of camp, walked casually as if he had every right to be there and slipped through the lines as if it was not an issue of concern. He made it to the barn in a matter of minutes. Found his disguise and changed. Slid his uniform into it’s hiding space and pulled on a knit cap to cover his hair. 

He glanced around before he slipped from the barn and saw no one. Looked up. The sky was going dark now but the moon had not yet started to rise. He had an hour. Perhaps an hour and a half before his change would be upon him and eight miles to the clearing. 

He caught the faint stench of horse from camp and his stomach grumbled loudly. Horse. He wrinkled his nose. It was stringy but he’d taken one down before during his change. He preferred stag or cow or even sheep though. Horse always gave him a cramp the next morning. Not to mention, in an army camp, it was hard to hide a mutilated horse or blame it on wild dogs. 

He skirted away from camp, ignoring the smell of horse. There was stag in the forest. He’d smelled it the day before. He didn’t need to circle back to the horses. The men. 

He would not do that. Had not done that since that last month on St. Croix. After the hurricane, when the slaves revolted, and the freemen of St. Croix needed to reassert their power. To instill fear. Had sent him to hunt. To send a message that there were things on St. Croix more feared than a pack of slaves with cane knives. And that thing? That thing belonged to the slave owners and they would use him at will. 

He kept moving. Kept the camp to his back and ignored the smell of horse and man clinging to his nostrils. 

Reached the clearing just before the moon began to rise and he could feel his skin start to itch. To stretch. His fingers ached and as he watched he could see them lengthening, curling in on themselves like claws. He’d need to undress quickly before his hands were useless and his clothing destroyed. 

That had happened once. He’d been caught unaware and his clothes had torn and he’d tried to sneak back into camp stark naked and wearing nothing but a few freckles and a blush. Claimed a pack of boys had stolen his clothes while he was with a doxy and had been teased about it for three months. 

No it was better to get his clothes off now and let the change take place in nothing but his skin. 

He slipped the jacket off his shoulders and untucked his shirt. Hadn’t bothered with a cravat. Reached behind him to pull the shirt off over his head. 

“Hamilton.” 

He froze, shirt half on and half off. 

General Washington. 

He let go of the shirt and let it fall back onto his shoulders just as the first beam of moonlight hit him. He felt the bones in his body beginning to break and fought the urge to scream in agony. 

“What is the meaning of—” General Washington started as Alexander felt the bones begin to reform, to stoop his shoulders, curl his back, bring him closer to the Earth. His jaw began to lengthen, his teeth to sharpen. 

He turned to Washington, sitting proudly atop his horse— the animal who’s scent had been trapped in Alexander’s nose all this time— and was staring at Alexander’s changing form in horror. 

Sweat soaking his body and fought the urge to scream as his body forced itself through the change. “Go.” He managed to shout before the change took hold and he remembered nothing more. 

He woke the next morning and the first thing he smelled was fire. The spicy scent of hot wood being consumed by flames. Wrinkled his nose. 

Fire was not his friend. Had never been his friend. 

Sniffed again. He could smell horse. And man. Two men. Sniffed a third time. One smelled of linen and spices and drawing rooms. French shaving soap and money. Underneath that was a faint sheen of sweat and worry. Not fear. Worry. They smelled different.   
Fear had an iron smell. With a bitter tang as an after note. Worry smelled warmer. Like love. Not arousal but love. That scent that clung to new mothers with a dark trace of something earthier underneath it. Fear smelled of a forge too long worked but worry? Worry smelled like the hour before dawn come a dry, late autumn. 

The other man? He smelled of fear. Fear and laundry soap and cooking spices. 

“I know you are awake,” The one who smelled of worry said and Alexander’s heart sank as he recognized the voice. 

Washington. 

He felt the ropes chaffing against his wrist and when he tried to move his legs found similar bonds around his ankles. He was naked but there was something draped across him as a blanket. Two somethings. 

“Alexander.” 

He opened his eyes slowly and saw Washington staring at him from across the fire. The man was stripped of his cloak and his coat and as Alexander breathed in again he realized what was covering his shame. 

“You know?” He whispered. “You know what I am?” 

“Skin stealer,” he heard Billy Lee hiss from somewhere behind him and flinched at the term. 

“I thought you were a traitor,” General Washington said quietly. “That is why we followed you Alexander.I thought you were a traitor. If only I’d been right and you’d simply been a traitor.” 

His eyes darted up to stare at the other man indignantly. “I would never—” 

“I did not wish to believe it so,” General Washington retorted, “but what was I to believe? Every month you rush from the tents on the three nights around the full moon. Each time you return sometime near dawn and look the worse for wear. You are exhausted and I can see the guilt in your eyes every time you are near me. At first, when we were in White Plains I thought that you might have a lover. A local girl who was sneaking out to meet you and you would only risk it when the moon was high so you didn’t lose your way. But that couldn’t explain why you would not meet my eyes after. It’s not as if I’ve ever begrudged any of my boys the right to sow their oats. Then, I flattered myself that the guilt might be that you had a crush. You would not be the first to form an infatuation with their commander and feel guilty about having a farm girl as well. You’re at a confusing age and—” 

“There is no farm girl,” Alexander muttered and avoided the topic of his infatuation with Washington. He knew what the other man meant after all. It was there, under the surface, the way he enjoyed General Washington’s hand on his shoulder or the way he thrilled at the other man’s praise. But Alexander knew that it was not love and it was not desire really— more curiosity and some sort of primal knowledge that in their pack Washington was the alpha and— since Alexander suspected that his kind had once been pack animals from the way he not only resembled a wolf but also hunted in a similar fashion— that drove Alexander with a desire to please the other man in any way he might desire. 

“I know that now,” General Washington huffed. “I’ve known that for a while. While you come back reeking of guilt Hamilton you don’t not come back reeking of whore. In fact, the only time you’ve reeked of sex, Major Laurens smelled the same the next morning and the men with the tent next to your’s requested my permission to move across camp because of Lauren’s lovemaking noises. Apparently you are not quiet when you are taking apart your lovers.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes oh.” General Washington huffed as he picked up a stick beside him and stirred the fire. “And so, looking for an answer to your disappearances I was left with only one conclusion. That you, Alexander Hamilton were a spy, and that the full moon was when you met your contact from the British forces.” 

“And you were stupid enough to come out here— you, the one man the British Army seeks to capture above all others— and catch me in the act?” Alexander gaped at him. “Sir you could have been killed. Captured.” 

“It was not a well thought out plan,” Washington agreed. “I just wanted to know why you would betray us. Our family. Our cause. Me.” 

“I would never,” Alexander shook his head. 

“I know that now.” Washington said quietly. “Oh Hamilton, if only you were a spy things would be so much easier right now.” 

“I would prefer a bullet,” Alexander whispered. 

“What?” Washington stared at him. 

“To the head,” he continued. “If you are to kill me then please make it quick. Not a chest wound that might heal or something that will linger. You’ve a horse pistol on your saddle, I am tied up and cannot move, a musket ball to the brain and it will be over.” 

“You’re asking me to kill you?” Washington seemed astounded. 

“It would be best.” Billy Lee muttered from over near the horses. “Safer. Kill him. Blame the British. We’d have no fear of him turning on the camp.” 

“I would never—” Alexander started. 

“That is why you sneak away isn’t it?” Washington asked. “You find a wooded area, plenty of game, far from camp—” 

“I no longer smell the men,” Alexander answered. “When the change is upon me I do not even remember they are there. That I am meant to be one of them. But I do not see why this matters sir. If you are going to do this thing I wish you would not delay it.” 

“You want to die so badly as that?” Washington asked. 

“No.” Alexander shook his head. “I would not die like this if given a choice. I would lay down my life in battle and not be put down like a dangerous dog by my commander but if it is to happen I would not suffer through the delay of it. Shoot me now and let me be done with the waiting.” 

“Alexander I would not kill you if given the choice.” 

“Why not?” He asked. “I am a risk. Even you can see that.” He poked his bound hands out of the blanket of Washington’s outerwear and nodded toward them. “I am a monster.” 

“I know.” Washington answered. “I watched you, bound, through the night as you tried to fight your way out of your bonds, threatening to kill me and Billy Lee and eat us both raw as soon as you were loose. I sat by the fire and remembered the old wives tales from when I was in the islands with my brother Lawrence. The monsters that roamed the mountains in the full moon light. The scary stories told to keep children close to their homes and not wander off near the beaches at night. Are you one of these things? 

“Yes.” Alexander nodded slowly. “I am one of those things.” 

“Name yourself.” 

“Must I?” Alexander stared at him. 

“There is power in a name Alexander,” Washington said slowly. “Name for me what manner of creature you are.” 

“Chupacabra.” 

“Chupacabra,” Washington repeated. “And as a chupacabra you have killed others?” 

“As Alexander I have killed others,” he retorted. “I am a soldier.” 

“Other soldiers,” Washington clarified. “You have only ever killed other soldiers as Alexander, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about as a chupacabra? Have you killed innocents?” 

“No.” 

“But you have killed?” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Once in St. Croix. They sent me after the leaders of a slave rebellion. Men who had killed innocent women and children.” 

“And since then?” 

“When I arrived in New York I found that my masters from St. Croix had made an arrangement with the jailers in New York.” 

“Criminals?” Washington clarified. 

“Yes.” Alexander answered. “And if there were none I would take a coach to the woods near Harlem or a boat across the river to New Jersey. I could hunt game there and if the woods were sparse I could take down a sheep or five and well, the farmers might talk   
but everyone knows there are wolves about.” 

“And now?” Washington asked. “If I were to release you now would you tear my throat out? Or have you reverted back to Alexander?” 

“I am Alexander,” he said quietly. “And as him I must apologize for anything I may have said or done that—”

“Think nothing of it,” General Washington said with a shake of his head. “I fear I must apologize as well. Your clothes are no longer fit for wear. It seems you shall have to borrow my cloak for your modesty until we return to the barn where you hid your uniform.” 

“Oh.” Alexander blushed as the other man stepped across the small camp fire and began to untie Alexander’s ankles and then his wrists, ignoring his nakedness. 

“I must admit sir I don’t understand. Why are you not shooting me?” 

“Because I am tired of death,” Washington said, not meeting his eyes as Alexander sat up and began to rub at his chaffed wrists. “And while I do not exactly know what you are Alexander I do not wish to destroy you. You are not a monster. You have killed no innocents. I cannot put your death upon my conscience.” 

“But—” 

“And Alexander?” Washington’s voice was quiet. Tired. 

“Yes?” 

“I suspect this will be a long war. And by the end we may have need for your particular talents. What sort of fool would I be to kill you now and need you later?” 

“I…” he swallowed. “I see. You may want me to kill on your behalf.” 

“To keep our men safe,” George agreed. “Would you be willing to do that?” 

“I would. But I have two requests. Two things that I find are nonnegotiable if I am to do your bidding.” 

“I see.” Washington nodded. “And those are?” 

“We never talk about this again,” Alexander said quietly. “Never. What this is— we do not name it. Not now, not after the war. Not even on our death beds. We never speak of this arrangement, this moment, ever again.” 

“Agreed.” Washington nodded. “And the second term?” 

“Major Laurens must never know.” 

“No one must ever know,” George answered. “Especially your young Major Laurens.” 

“Then we are agreed?” Alexander asked. 

“We are agreed.” Washington nodded. “Now may I offer you a ride back to your clothing? I cannot imagine you would like to walk given your current situation, and riding astride may be just as uncomfortable. Side saddle though, with a horse blanket as padding   
may not bother much.” 

“I’ll…” Alexander swallowed as he wrapped the cloak tighter around him. Horseback would be the quickest way and if they were caught no one would ever— ever— mention that they’d found the Commander in Chief of the Continental Army with his Chief of Staff naked on the back of his horse. 

“That would be appreciated,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”


	3. We've A Small Problem With the French

He had his head buried in his papers when he heard the knock on his office door and tried to bite back a curse. Tomorrow night was the full moon and, since it was winter, he would need to leave after luncheon the next day if he were going to make it to his favorite hunting location before darkness fell. He’d spend the day after it resting and settling his stomach and that meant a day and a half of lost work and he had things to do. Important things. Things that were vital to the economic health of their nation. He didn’t have time for visitors.

  
Whoever it was knocked again and this time he could tell it was the rap of a cane. Someone who thought they were too important to use their own fist. Someone who most likely wouldn’t just go away on their own. 

He sighed and set the report he was working on aside. “Enter.” 

The door knob twisted and the door pushed forward and Alexander tried to keep his face neutral so that his annoyance didn’t show. 

He saw President Washington’s bent head, the hair gone white now without powder, and immediately stood, making his way around the desk. 

“Your Excellency.” He swallowed as he hurried forward to offer the older man his arm. “What are you doing here? I could have come to your office. You didn’t need to make the trek all the way to the Treasury—” 

“Hush.” The President narrowed his eyes at Alexander and shooed him away. “And quit hovering. I am not that frail yet.” 

Alexander bit his lip to keep from protesting. The man had suffered a bout of anthrax on his leg that had left him bedridden for months less than a year before. They’d all been terrified that he would die. Alexander most of all. And the cane? The cane that the man was using wasn’t a foppish accessory. He truly did need it to keep his balance. 

“At least have a seat.” Alexander looked around for one that wasn’t covered in books and documents. The only one that wasn’t completely covered was his own. “Here.” He hurried over to it and lifted it, prepared to move it to wherever the President indicated. 

“Alexander.” He froze. “I am capable of standing.” 

“But—” He looked between the President and his chair. “You are the—” 

“Yes, I know.” Washington sighed. “I am the President of these United States. President Washington. Son, everyone else has made me quite aware of that fact. During my illness I was quite sure they were poking around in the contents of my chamber pot, perversely determined to find gold nuggets inside it.” 

Alexander couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth. The man sounded as exasperated as he had when they would discuss that first Congress while freezing together in a small office in Valley Forge. 

“Son.” The President shook his head. “Please. I need one person who does not feel the need to genuflect whenever they are in my presence.” 

“And Lady Was—”

“Besides Martha. Heavens knows she has no problems reminding me that I am but a mortal man. One that has gotten old and creaky and can be replaced by someone handsome and young to fetch her tea while she admires his bottom. As if I am the only one of the two of us who has aged and she’s still a belle of twenty.” 

“I…” Alexander decided that discretion was the better part of valor — especially when discussing his former commander and current President’s wife— and closed his mouth. 

He glanced up and saw that the other man’s eyes were gleaming with mirth. “Now.” The President said. “My physicians recommend that I should attempt a constitutional each day and I thought perhaps you could join me for a short promenade and then lunch?” 

“Lunch?” He looked around at his pile of work that was still undone. 

“I can tell by looking at you young man that you are not eating properly with Mrs. Hamilton in Albany and I have something I need to discuss with you that it is perhaps better that we not have other ears overhearing.” 

“Something—” Alexander stared at him, trying to figure out what it was that the President would want to speak of. If it were related to legislation he would have called Alexander to his office. The other man was scrupulous about keeping his home life and his work as separate as possible. If it were—

“Something related to our time during the war and some of your specialized duties.” 

The war. 

Alexander felt his heart plummet into his toes. 

Specialized duties. 

Tomorrow was the full moon and once again his General had need of him. 

“I see.” He nodded as he went to the peg and retrieved his coat. Slipped it on and then opened the door for his General. “Of course, sir. I can think of nothing I would prefer to do than stretch my legs with you as we so often did during the war.” 

He let the General proceed him out of the room and followed along behind. Let the older man put his hand on Alexander’s shoulder for balance as they went down the stairs. Tried to ignore just how much weight the man had to put on Alexander for support.

Held the door open as they stepped outside. 

He hurried along beside the taller man as they walked from the Treasury to the brick home that the General had made his official residence here in Philadelphia. Nodded and made polite small talk as his stomach rolled. 

The war. He’d tried hard not to think of it. 

Any of it. 

The way that men had starved at Valley Forge. The sounds of the dying at Brandywine and Germantown. The screams of wounded horses at Trenton. 

He avoided the butchers stalls in the markets so he did not have to remember the irony tang of blood in his nose. The way it clogged his nose and seemed to coat the back of everyone’s throat. 

Tried to avoid thinking about the special missions that his General had sent him on. 

Necessary missions. 

He had never regretted what he’d done. He had saved the lives of his men. Had kept them fed by raiding supply trains. Had prevented ambushes and slipped behind lines to cause chaos that had crippled the British army and kept their men alive. He had never regretted what he’d done but he hadn’t tried to remember it either. 

Once he’d returned to civilian life he’d been careful. Had always found a nearby wood to hunt in. Wildlife that would not be missed. He kept himself away from men and kept his cravings to beasts. 

He was a beast but he was also a gentleman and he could overcome his natural instincts. He could rise up from his beginnings and be a man that others respected. 

His General led him inside the simple but handsomely appointed house that was his official residence. “Come through to the kitchen my boy,” the General said and motioned him toward the back of the house. “I’ve sent Martha out of town for a few days to check on Mount Vernon and gave the slaves the day. The only one here is Billy Lee. And it is not as if anything we say shall surprise him.” 

Billy Lee. 

Alexander swallowed again. 

The General’s body servant hated him once he’d found out what Alexander was. Had always remained wary. Only interacted with him when ordered to and then he always stayed as far out of Alexander’s reach as possible. 

“There is some sliced meat and cheese.” The General said as he ushered him into the kitchen. “Apples, if you’d like. I’ve found they hurt my teeth too much to eat but please, feel free.” 

“That’s…” Alexander shook his head as he took the seat that the General offered him before bringing over platters of meat and cheese for them to eat. Placed them on the table and then retrieved a loaf of crusty bread and a knife. 

The smell of the meat hit his nose and his stomach grumbled but he knew that he’d be unable to eat. 

The General sat down across from him and stared. “Can I perhaps tempt you with an ale? Or some wine?” 

“I…” Alexander shook his head. “No.” 

“Right.” The General nodded. “So, to our matter of business then. As you know Son, we are currently in a bit of a situation with the French. Particularly the French ambassador.” 

“Genet.” Alexander nodded. “I’d heard he was trying to purchase American ships and crew them with American sailors to support their war with Britain even though we’ve signed a statement of neutrality. I suspect that Jeffer—” 

“That would be the broad outlines of the situation,” The General agreed. “And while I suspect you are right in relation to our Secretary of State you must let me handle it Alexander.” 

“Yes Sir.” He nodded slowly and dropped his eyes to the table. “But I fail to see what that has to do with me. Surely we will expel him from the country for his mischief and then it will be over.” 

“Except he has stirred up popular feelings and we cannot stop him from having a relationship with some of the more Democratic Republican newspapers. Papers that will publish his fiery rhetoric and his calls to arms. No, as long as Monsieur Genet is capable of communicating with our citizens then we are at risk of him dragging us into another war.” 

Alexander stared at the General. “But if he disappears in the night won’t people be suspicious.” 

“If a note were to be found that stated he was traveling south to Monticello to consult with Jefferson before boarding a ship to France?”

“And he simply did not arrive,” Alexander answered. “There are hungry men in this country sir. Some have turned to brigandry. But where would we get such a letter?”

  
“From Genet of course.” Washington reached into his coat and pulled out a bit of parchment, the seal broken. “A mutual friend of ours arranged for this to be delivered to me. It’s a copy of a letter that Genet has addressed to friends in Boston.” 

“When does he leave?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“And you want me to attack him on the road,” Alexander said slowly. 

“We will attack him on the road,” the General answered. “We’ll leave soon after Genet and will go overland on horseback. We should reach a place I know along that road that will be empty come nightfall but is well traveled enough during the day that he will not be left unclaimed for too long.” 

“Sir.” Alexander stared at him. It was different than it had been during the war. The General was older. They both were. And he knew the other man had not sat a horse since his illness. “Are you—” 

“I have never sent you out alone on a mission like this Alexander,” the General looked at him sternly. “Have always gone along. I ask you to commit these sins in my name and I will not hide at home while you are doing them. Besides, you will need someone to care for you afterwards.” 

“I—” He swallowed. No one had cared for him after a change since he’d come home from the war. Yet, the General had always insisted on it when they’d been in camp. Had sat with him through his transition. Had helped him remove his clothes. Held him through the worst of the pain and comforted him. Made sure there was a bath waiting when he returned to himself and plenty of tooth powder and flossing sticks to clean his teeth and rum to wash out his mouth. He would make Alexander rest himself and would feed him the rich organ meat in small bits to help him regain his strength. 

“Alexander.” The General looked at him. “I need you to do this for me. Your country needs you to do this. Otherwise, how many of our young men will die fighting the British and our very existence—” 

“I’ll do it, Sir. Of course I will. You need not have any question of my loyalty General. I’ll do this for you.” 

“Oh son,” The General sighed. “I never had any doubts that you would. You are a good soldier. A good man.” 

“Thank you.” He nodded slowly. 

“Now, son, you are too skinny.” He pushed the platter toward Alexander. 

“No, thank you sir.” He shook his head. “If I’m too… Well it’s better if I eat sparingly for the next few days.” 

“Of course Son.” The General pushed himself to his feet. “I find that I’ve not got much of an appetite either. Perhaps a soothing cup of chamomile instead? Martha has taken to purchasing it to help me relax.” 

“If you’re having a cup sir—” The General’s hand came down on his shoulder and before Alexander could think about it he’d pressed his forehead to the other man’s side, seeking comfort from him. 

“You’re such a good boy Alexander. Such a good man. Loyal. Unwavering in your duties. I am so proud of you. So proud. No father could ever be prouder of a son than I am of you.” 

_Father._ His heart stuttered at the word. His greatest desire. One he’d never allowed himself to admit except in his darkest moments. The desire to be worthy of such man’s regard. To be truly welcomed as a member of his family and not just a weapon to be pointed at his enemies. _Their enemies._


	4. Tidying Up the Messes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George Washington loves his military sons. When he accepts them into his family he makes a vow to never, ever leave them to defend themselves alone. No matter what they may be facing.

He didn’t meet Billy Lee’s eyes as he made his way slowly into the capital’s brick lined city morgue. Let the other man hold onto his elbow to help keep him steady as they made their way down the narrow stairs to the cool cellar.

  
“Your Excellency,” the head of the morgue bowed his head quickly. “I…well…I know you left strict orders that we should call for you when we find one of these.” 

“Indeed.” George narrowed his eyes at the other man and carefully didn’t look at the sheet draped form on the table between them. “The safety of this city is one that concerns me greatly as President. And, as I’m sure you’d understand, a panic amongst the populace it would be of grave concern.” 

“But surely…” the physician started and when he saw George’s raised eyebrow he fell silent. “Yes. Well. The constable who brought her in has been informed that the matter has been raised to the army and it is in the best interest of himself and his country that he remain silent. I made it seem as if this was some sort of barbarity perpetuated by agents still loyal to the Crown.” 

“There are many such monsters still among us, even a decade after the peace was signed,” George agreed. “And they would like nothing more than for rumors of some supernatural barbarian wrecking God’s vengeance upon our people so that it would cause a panic amongst the people.” 

“Sir.” The physician nodded. “But this is the fourth body this year. The eleventh since…” 

The eleventh since Alexander Hamilton had come to Philadelphia to act as his Treasury Secretary. 

Fifty bodies in New York City. 

Two dead in Albany. 

A constable had almost tracked him in New York. Had opened inquiries. 

George’s agents in the city had told him that Alexander Hamilton was being whispered about as a man who had a secret. Who seemed to disappear once too often and then…

George had let it be whispered that his Alexander wasn’t out murdering drunkards and whores, those nights he was missing were being spent with his paramour and their children. He’d talked with Billy Lee and come upon it as a solution. Dinah had two children from Jacky Custis and his widow could not stand to see them in the house. Was agitating that Dinah and her children be sold. Martha had begun to quietly urge that a solution would have to be found. The boys? Well they looked too much like Jacky had for the widow to be forced to bear such things. 

He and Billy Lee had sat down Dinah down and explained the situation. A house. Her freedom and her sons. He would send her a stipend each month to pay for her bills and buy her a small cottage. Schooling for the boys. In return, all she had to do was repeat the story he told her. She’d been a maid in his camp during the Revolution. Had taken up with his Chief of Staff. Mr. George knew about it. Knew she was entertaining Alexander Hamilton. 

When her oldest boy was born Mr. George had given her to Alexander. Then he set her free. 

George had enough letters in the boy’s hand that he could make a fair copy. Wrote up a bill of sale for Dinah and dated it for 1779. Wrote up a manumission of slavery and deeded it for the day before Alexander’s wedding. 

If anyone were to investigate they’d see a man keeping his slave mistress and his society wife separate. 

He paid a man to slip Dinah’s forged papers into the files in Albany. As if they’d been there the entire time. 

Bought a house in Alexander’s name and then wrote out a lease for ten shillings a year in rent. 

When those men had come to ask questions about where Alexander Hamilton spent his nights she’d told them he’d been with her and their sons. That he came during the full moon because he didn’t need a lamplighter and he could slip down the streets unnoticed after his wife had fallen asleep. 

“Sir.” The physician cleared his throat. “Do you wish to see…” 

No. George thought to himself. Of course he did not wish to see the results of his boy’s curse. Did not want to see what the moon had forced upon Alexander. 

Instead he nodded once, jerkily. 

The physician removed the sheet and George grimaced as he saw what remained of the girl for she was truly no more than that. A child wearing too much rouge on her cheeks and the tattered remains of a dress cut too low over what was surely a padded corset meant to give her more womanly curves. Or at least he assumed that there had been a corset there at some point. The front of the dress had been shred open in a long tear. The bodice only remained because it had not been pulled free from her arms.

Where her chest should be…

George fought the urge to retch. He’d seen battleground deaths. Seen men with horrible wounds from the guns. Men ridden down by dragoons. 

He had seen the results of Alexander’s hungers many times before. But never in one so young. 

George could tell from the wounds— and years of watching Alexander hunt during the war— that he’d gone for the throat first. Could see that her head lay at an unnatural angle. He’d snapped the neck to silence her. Come up behind her in the dark and snapped her neck. Turned her in his arms and bit down. Used his teeth to tear the flesh free. 

He closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer for the poor child’s soul. 

“Whoever did this,” the physician continued. “Once again, he removed the heart. The liver. The kidneys. The pancreas. The breastbone was cracked open like one would a hunted animal. The ribs pushed back. The lungs…” 

George nodded. His eyes still closed. 

“The lungs were torn free and left beside her body. The killer, once again, wanted the organs one would most likely find from a butcher. The offal if you would think of it that way.” 

“And you are certain this is the work of a man?” George asked quietly. “Certain this was not an attack by an animal? That she did not have her neck broken and then wild dogs came upon the corpse?” 

“Even if she was killed by one man and then left, unmutilated, I could not see this damage being done by feral dogs. The bites to the throat perhaps but to break the ribs open? To leave the lungs? That is the work of a creature with both reason and jointed fingers. No, Your Excellency, this was done by a man. Or several men possibly.” 

“I see.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and removed a small, black velvet bag filled with coins. “For the poor thing’s burial and prayers for her soul. You may keep the rest for yourself of course,” He said and knew the child would be consigned to a paupers grave and a few hastily muttered prayers along with all the other lost souls who found themselves nameless and unmourned in this man’s care. 

Turned and started back for the stairs. Let Billy Lee take his arm as they made their way up. Let the other man take more of his weight since he’d grown stooped with burdens since their arrival in this lonely, lost place. Let the man help him into the carriage. 

“We must do something about him,” Billy Lee said quietly as the driver started into traffic toward his residence. “He’s getting worse Sir.” 

“Billy Lee—” 

“Mr. George, I like young Mr. Hamilton as much as you do sir. Good man. Good soldier. And he’s never been anything but your loyal man but…” 

“I know,” George said quietly as he stared out the window of his carriage. They’d given the boy a taste of flesh all those years ago. Manipulated him. Twisted him. Gave him the taste for what his kind really craved instead of the paltry substitutes that he’d been making due with. They’d made him a monster. George had made him a monster. Now that he was loose it was George’s responsibility to put him down. 

He needed to be put down. He’d grown feral. And it was time to put him down. 

Just as he’d promised the boy all those years ago. If he could no longer control himself then George would put him down. Would be the one to put the pistol to the back of his head. 

He’d always told himself that if this day came he would do it and would not hesitate. He would have him to dinner. Pour the wine and slip a powder into it to make him insensible. Would convince him into the garden to stare at the stars as he so loved to do on quiet nights in camp. Pointing out constellations. Watching for shooting stars. 

Even when he’d turned into a monster George had found him more than once perched on Nelson’s back, sucking the blood from a freshly taken organ and staring up at the stars. 

He’d drug him and take him outside to stare at the stars and when Alexander wasn’t paying attention he would step behind him and put the pistol to the back of his head and it would be quick. His boy would never know what happened. Would feel no pain. 

“Sir.” Billy Lee stared at him. 

“I know,” George snapped as they stopped in front of the house, and he let Billy Lee help him from the carriage. 

Made his way inside and into his study. Found the presents he’d purchased recently for Alexander’s children. The grandchildren his boy had given him to spoil and love. Stuffed the toys into his pocket. The doll for Angelica. The wooden ring that Billy Lee had carved for poor baby Alex to gum on while he cut the nasty front teeth that had been given him such pain. In his other pocket he stuffed a bag of penny sweets. Cherry. 

Alexander would fuss about him spoiling the children. Ruining their dinner. But all of next week his boy’s lips would be redder than any maiden gone courting and his breath would smell of cherry candy. 

He’d bicker less with Jefferson because his mouth would be occupied with cherry candy and the other Virginian would vex him less with complaints. A few of the candies would find their way into Madison’s pocket somehow — Alexander would still swear they were the bitterest of enemies— and the young Congressman would somehow cough less with candy in his mouth. 

Alexander would fuss about the candy but George would give it to the children anyway and his government would be sweeter next week because of it. 

“Sir?” Billy Lee widened his eyes as he saw George start back toward the front door, his pockets now bulging. 

“I think I shall take the air.” George didn’t meet his eyes. “Tell Martha that I expect I shall not be back for supper.” 

Billy Lee didn’t answer. Just nodded silently and turned back into the house as George made his way outside. Enjoyed the crisp autumn air as he strolled from his own residence to Alexander’s much humbler one. Nodded to gentlemen who lifted their hats. Lifted his own to ladies who tittered as he walked by. 

Soon he was on the small cobblestone street where Alexander made his home. Made his way up the three brick front stairs and rapped on the door with the head of his cane. 

The door opened and the space in front of him was empty.He looked down to see five year old Angelica staring up at him. “Grandfather Wash!” 

“Are you supposed to open the door without your mother young lady?” He asked, trying to sound stern. 

Instead of answering she lifted her arms imperiously. 

He leaned forward, his back creaking and hoisted the small girl into his arms. “Hello darling.” 

“Angelica!” Eliza called out from further in the house, her voice weary. “Where are you?” 

“She’d come to see me.” George called out as Eliza came rushing into the front hall, her hair falling from her cap. “We were discussing why she should leave opening the front door to the adults.” 

“Grandfather Wash.” She lay her head on his shoulder and began to run sticky fingers through his hair. 

“Oh Angelica.” Eliza started forward and George narrowed his eyes at her. As if he was going to hand back his favorite granddaughter just because she had sticky fingers. 

“Alexander.” She called out. “His Excellency is here.” 

“Eliza.” He shook his head as he managed to push the door closed behind him. “What have I said about such things?” 

“Grandfather Wash!” Seven year old Phillip came careening into the front room. “Grandfather look at what I have.”

He smiled as he saw the crumpled piece of parchment his grandson had turned into a missile to launch into the air. He could just make out Alexander’s scribbling. Something about tax rates. 

“Quit crowding now,” Alexander’s voice cut through the din and George looked up to see Alexander passing his youngest son into his wife’s arms and nudge his oldest aside. “Let His Excellency have some room to get inside before you crowd him. Perhaps offer him a seat instead of making him stand in the doorway like a peddler.” 

He took Angelica from George’s arms and set her down. She glared up at her father with a look that George was well acquainted with — most often from seeing it grace his favorite son’s face every time George was forced to tell him he could not punch Thomas Jefferson or John Adams in the nose. No matter how enjoyable it would be. Her lower lip pooched out and George couldn’t help his own smile. 

“We did not expect you today,” Alexander said, a smile on his face. “Not that your presence is not always something we look forward to here. Your Excellency.” 

“I was out for a walk and thought I would come to see my favorite grandchildren,” George said, his gaze focused on Alexander’s ear instead of his eyes. Afraid of the monster he would see hidden in the dark circles under his boy’s eyes. “You see once again my house was invaded by fairies and they have left gifts that do not suit me.” 

“Presents!” Angelica screeched and began to bounce on her toes. 

“You did not need—” Alexander started and George was ready, a sweet already between his fingers, and when Alexander opened his mouth he popped it onto the other man’s tongue and watched as Alexander’s eyes widened. 

“Son. If I wish to bring the children my ill gotten fairy gain, who are you to second guess me?” 

“Especially when he enjoys those gains as much as they do,” Eliza said dryly.

“Come along Grandfather Wash,” Angelica said, her voice honey sweet, as she laced her tiny fingers through his and led him into the parlor. Waited for him to sit and then climbed into his lap. Snuggled her head against his shoulder. 

He lifted the doll out of his pocket and handed it to her. “What do you think of her? You think she could make friends with the rest of your entourage little one?” 

“Mmmm.” Angelica sighed as she inspected the doll. Gave it a quick kiss on it’s smooth wooden face. Pressed the doll to his cheek and made kissing noises. Cradled it in her arms and began to croon nonsense to it as she snuggled into his side. 

He reached into his jacket and removed the book of French adventure stories that he’d had sent to him by the Marquis for Phillip. Alexander had said the boy was turning intransigent with his studies and George thought perhaps it was the primer they were using. He was like his father. Impatient with things that did not hold his interest. Perhaps he’d be more inclined to his lessons if they involved less time counting and more time reading about swashbuckling pirates. 

“Thank you Grandfather.” Phillip leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 

“Stop being stroppy with your mother and bend your head to your studies. Otherwise you’ll end up less like your father here and more like me.” 

“We’d all be blessed if he were half the man you were,” Alexander said quietly and he huffed. 

“But we’d all be better off if he spoke better French.” 

“Yes Grandfather,” Phillip said. 

“And I’ll expect you to show me this missile of yours in the garden later. I expect it’ll go much farther than the ones your father and the Marquis used to make when they were bored in my camp.” 

He turned his gaze to tiny Alex and retrieved the chew ring from his pocket. “I didn’t forget you little one.” 

Handed it to the toddler and watched as he immediately placed it in his mouth and began to gnaw, drool spilling across his chin. 

Passed the candy to Eliza to safeguard and dole out as she saw fit. 

“You spoil them,” Alexander said as he watched his wife make her way into the kitchen, their youngest on her hip and their oldest on her heels. 

He heard a faint huff and glanced to the side to see his granddaughter nestled into his chest, her doll tucked under one arm and her thumb in her mouth as she dozed. 

“And she has refused to do that for the past week,” Alexander huffed. “It’s been quite the war of attrition here each day. Stubborn child.” 

“I have no idea where she got that from,” George retorted as he removed a small package of swan quills from his inner pocket where they’d nestled with the book. Knew they were Alexander’s favorite but they were expensive so his boy would never buy them for himself.

  
“You did not need—” 

“Can a father not indulge his favorite child?” George said softly and watched as color filled Alexander’s cheeks. “And his grandchildren? I was given to believe that it was my reward for reaching my dotage. A sweet daughter in law to bring me cups of tea and a dutiful son to carry on my legacy and grandchildren to spoil.” 

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Alexander asked and George could see he was struggling to hide his own emotions. Even all these years later the boy was still affected at any show of familial emotion. As if he could not truly believe that George could see him in such a way. As if that affection could be taken at any time and he must be prepared for it’s loss. “I can have Eliza—” 

“Or you could make it yourself,” George said as he stared at him. “I know that you know how and last I checked your legs were not broken young man. Then, you shall come back and take your shoes off and have a nap on the settee.” 

“But—” 

George raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to tell me that young Angelica is not the only stubborn child in this parlor right now?” 

“No.” Alexander didn’t meet his eyes. 

“Tea. Then a nap before dinner for you,” George said sternly. 

“Yes.” Alexander said as he made his way to the door of the parlor and George heard him stall there. “Father.” The boy whispered. 

One day. George thought to himself. One day if they could not control him then it would be George that put him down. 

He’d find a way, he promised himself as he cradled Alexander’s daughter. He’d find a way to control him. Manufacture enemies. Bind him in ropes and imprison him in the basement of the Treasury. Would find a cure. Whatever it took, George would find a way to control him. Would find a way to break the monster’s hold upon his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the deal. You want to see teasers, ask anonymous questions or possibly see some of my nonfandom work? You can find me on Tumblr @Walkerbaby


	5. An Elegant Solution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George ponders what's to be done about Alexander's unfortunate tendency to kill people during the full moon and he thinks he might have stumbled on a solution.

He’d been wracking his brain for the past two months, trying to come up with a solution to the problem that was Alexander.

  
He knew what the solution should be. The solution that Alexander would advocate if he knew what he was doing during his change. They had spoken about it once, during the war. 

_“If I ever become a real threat,” Alexander had said one morning after he’d finished with a change. “I_ mean _if you cannot control me…”_

_He had stared at the boy then, his heart aching. “I’ll find a way to make sure that doesn’t happen, son.”_

_“Sir.” Alexander had looked at him, his eyes bleak. “If I cannot be controlled… I would have you do_ it _, Sir.”_

_“I won’t need to,” he’d promised Alexander._

_“But if you do—”_

_“If it must be done,” George had whispered, his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “I’ll do it.”_

He knew that if Alexander were aware of the deaths he’d caused then he would insist that George does it. He was a threat to innocent people. He couldn’t be controlled. He was a rabid animal that needed put out of its misery before he did any more damage.   
If he found out that George had known he’d lost control and hadn’t taken care of it… 

George swallowed. His boy would never forgive him. Just as George couldn’t forgive himself. He’d left his boy alone, scared; he’d let him lose control and hadn’t saved him and now all those lives were on his conscience as well as Alexander’s. They weighed more heavily on him perhaps— during his change Alexander couldn’t control himself, he was a beast. And who was to blame when a beast went savage after all? The beast or the man meant to hold the leash? 

Yet, even now, he didn’t know what to do; didn’t know how to help his dear boy. He just knew that the promise that he’d made to Alexander all those years ago? He couldn’t keep it. 

“It seems to me,” Billy Lee said as he refilled George’s coffee cup one morning. “That we’re missing a piece of this puzzle, Sir.” 

“What piece would that be?” 

“Why hasn’t Mrs. Hamilton done something about this?” Billy Lee asked. “You’d think she would have figured out a way to keep him contained. She’s just a bitty thing and she manages to keep him off of her and them children well enough. You’d think they’d be who he’d go for first.” 

“You think he’d go after his own children?” 

“I think Mr. Hamilton goes after small targets,” Billy Lee said. “Even in his change, he’s not a big thing. He hunts prey he knows he can overpower and what’s easier to overpower than a bitty woman and a few little ones?” 

“Hmmm.” He’d mulled it over a few days. Alexander had never attacked him and he’d always assumed it was because of the links between them. The affection. He’d assumed that Alexander hadn’t attacked Eliza and the children for the same reason. He’d never considered his size as part of the matter. 

He made his excuses to stroll down to the Hamilton home one day when he knew Alexander was busy at the Treasury. He stuffed his pockets with ha’penny sweets and pretended that he had simply wanted to see the children. He let Eliza convince him to stay for lunch and played with the little ones and inquired about Phillip’s studies. 

“So,” he said finally when the children were otherwise occupied. “I know that last week must have been difficult for you. I have talked to Alexander about his late hours and—”

“You’d do better to talk to the Congress,” Eliza had said waspishly. “Expecting those reports from him each month. A complete overview of the Treasury accounts, balanced to the penny with a justification for everything they spend down to the cost of their tea.” 

Congressional report? George kept his face bland. He knew nothing about any Congressional reports. 

“My husband sleeps at least three nights a month in his office and then comes home and sleeps all of Sunday. Then the children fuss because if their father doesn’t have to attend church then surely—”   
Alexander wasn’t coming home. He told Eliza he was staying at the office and he wasn’t coming home. It was his affection that kept her safe but not because he didn’t attack those he loved — because he put a barrier between them so that he couldn’t reach them. That wasn’t the actions of a man who could no longer control his inner beast. 

He had a plan worked out before he’d even managed to get back to his office. If Alexander had kept people safe by locking them away from him, perhaps George could keep him safe by locking him away from the world.   
Franklin had known of a small cabin in the woods. Through trickery or lying or perhaps the suggestion of a conveniently invented affair, the man had convinced the owner to allow the government to have the cottage, stocked with enough food for two men and a grown pig, for three days each month— all of them at the full moon. Tonight would be the first night that they tried his solution. 

He made his way up the stairs of the Treasury Building and started toward Alexander’s office, ignoring the workers bowing and scraping as he passed. 

He knocked heavily on his boy’s door and heard a muffled grunt. “I don’t have time for—”

George opened the door and stared sternly at the overworked young man in front of him. His jacket was off and George could see a splotch of ink on his vest. His cravat was askew and it looked as if he hadn’t combed his hair in days. The shadows under his eyes were deep enough and dark enough to hide a demon of hell itself on his face. “You have time for me.” 

Alexander jolted out of his seat and directly into attention as if he were still a young aide and not the Treasury Secretary. “Sir.” 

“At ease, Son.” George nodded quietly to him. 

“I was just… Things have been very busy and…” 

“You are trying to put your affairs in order before the moon,” George said as he closed the door. 

“Yes.” Alexander didn’t meet his eyes. “The moon.” 

“That is why I’m here.” 

“Sir?” The suffering in Alexander’s face shook him and then and there George swore to himself that he would never ask Alexander to hunt his enemies again. He would not put such things on his boy again. “Do you have need of me?” 

If he told him no, would the boy still go? Would he try to argue that he didn’t need George’s help? He was stubborn. Headstrong. 

“I have need of you,” George said. “I have a carriage waiting and it’s best if we go as soon as you’re able.” 

“I can…” Alexander looked around. “Might I have an hour?” 

“An hour.” George agreed. “I shall go to the butchers and see about some provisions.” 

“Provisions?” Alexander asked. 

“I expect we shall be gone three days. That won’t be a problem will it?” George asked. “Should I send a note to Mrs. Hamilton?” 

“No, Sir.” Alexander shook his head. “She knows not to expect me. I have…well, I thought it best to tell her that I would be working late and staying at the office. All things considered, with the children, it seemed…safer.” 

“Quite.” George nodded. “Now, finish your work and I’ll return with two horses and provisions in the hour.” 

He secured provisions and horses and within the hour— his Alexander had always been a stickler for punctuality— they were on their way out of the city. 

“Is there anything you can tell me, Sir?” Alexander asked when they were out of Philadelphia and making their way along the Old Baltimore Road, along paths they’d traveled once before, many years ago when they’d been fleeing the British. “About the person you want…”

“You’ll see.” He continued on toward the farm Franklin had found until he saw the stone post that was the marker to lead them into the wood. 

“Sir?” Alexander had been quiet for the past few hours and his eyes had sunken further into his face. George was afraid that his boy would spend the night suffering even though a full moon was not expected until tomorrow. The call to change would make a sleepless night for both of them. 

He stopped at a stable and dismounted. “We’ll need to leave our horses here and hike back,” George said, slinging the saddle bags off his horse and beginning to unsaddle him. 

Alexander swung down beside him and began caring for his own horse. He’d gotten better over the years, George thought to himself, more comfortable around the beasts than he’d been at nineteen— a boy too afraid of the animals to admit he’d never actually learned to ride. 

“Are you sure no one will—” 

“The farmer is expecting to find two more horses in his stables,” George answered. “No one will mention it.” 

“Sir,” Alexander said and finished caring for his horse. 

When George was done with his own mount, he passed a saddle bag to Alexander and began walking, his dear boy behind him. 

They hiked for what George expected was a half hour before the cottage came into view on a slight rise. He could see a stack of firewood and a pig rooting around in a well-made pen near the house. Smoke came from the chimney. 

“What villain could live in such a cozy place and still do the harm that would necessitate my call?” Alexander asked bleakly. “Is it Arnold, finally attempting to return home?” 

“No.” George turned to look at Alexander. “For the next three days, this is to be our home, Alexander.” 

“Our…” Alexander stared at him. “You mean my home? I’ll stay locked in here and you shall stay up at the main house and—”

“I would not leave you alone during such a time.” 

“I would not have you stay.” 

“Why?” 

Alexander stared at him. “Why? How can you ask such a thing? You know why? Sir, must I say it?”

“Alexander—”

“I love you as a father,” his boy screamed. “In all the flights of fancy my mind takes, the happiest cloud castles are the ones I make where you are my father and I have your respect and your love.” 

“Alexander.” He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and pulled him into a rough embrace. “In every way that matters you are my son.” 

“I—”

George grabbed his boy’s face and tilted his head upward so that Alexander was looking in his eyes. “You may not share my name or my blood but, my boy, you are my son. My son.” 

“Then—” Alexander pulled away and began to pace. “How can you think to stay?”

“How can I not?” George asked. 

“I could hurt you. Kill you. You know what I am. How can you risk such a thing?” 

“I know that never once, not from the first change you ever suffered in my presence, have you even tried to hurt me. Son, I do not believe you ever would.” 

“You cannot think that,” Alexander argued. “You cannot trust me with that responsibility.” 

“I do,” George said quietly. “I trust you, Son.” 

“Then you are a fool,” Alexander spat. “For I do not even trust myself.”

“Then trust me,” George said. “Trust me when I say that you will not harm me.”

“But—” 

“There is a cabin.” George grabbed his boy and held him in front of George, his back pressed to George’s front. “A warm cabin with plenty of firewood and food and no people about. There is even a pig for you to hunt.” 

“You bought a pig for me to…” Alexander swallowed. 

“I knew you would not want to risk game,” George said. “And you complain that you always eat too much and make yourself sick when faced with a cow. Chickens do not sate your hunger, you do not care for goat, and sheep give you indigestion. In the past, you have always preferred pigs.” 

“You have made a habit of remembering what I prefer to eat when I am…this?” Alexander asked bleakly. 

“What father does not know his son’s favorite meal?” 

Alexander’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you.” 

“Think nothing of it, Son. Now, come.” He let go of Alexander and reached for the other saddle bag. “I have a deck of cards and a bottle of bourbon and I’m ready to be off my feet.” 

“Yes.” Alexander took the saddle bags from him and let George lead him toward the cabin. 

“Father.” He heard the younger man whisper once he thought George would not here. 

He would keep his boy here. Keep him safe and let him kill the pig and feast upon it. Would hold him through his change and back again. Would bathe him. Wash the gore from his hair and tend to him in the day after so that he might rest and regain his strength. He would keep his boy safe. Keep him from harm and he would not be forsaking his promise— merely giving himself no need to rely upon it.


End file.
